The Words I Will Not Heed
by Stephane Richer
Summary: Destiny says that they must splinter and grow to hate one another, forge their own paths into the world and perhaps never meet again. But Kise just wants to flip destiny the bird and go out and forge a path ahead with whoever will join him.


The Words I Will Not Heed

Disclaimer: Don't own.

Note: Derp. Ah, well, I had fun writing this at least.

* * *

Kise doesn't recognize the forces behind all this weird shit at first. He knows something's up from the moment Aomine gets that funny look on his face, but he doesn't know what it is, why he seems to be looking past everyone and at some unknown thing in the background, something even more invisible than Kuroko, something only he can see. And one by one, the dominos start falling around him, the ceiling and the walls are crumbling until there's nothing left around Kise, no foundations even for him to stand on, nothing to call this team a team. These forces are the forces of destiny.

Kise thinks it through when he's on the last train back in to Tokyo, from a modelling shoot that lasted way longer than was necessary and truthfully he should be doing homework or sleeping right now but he can't concentrate and he can't fall asleep when this is gnawing at his brain and has been doing so all day long, through practice where the hollow gymnasium does not echo with Aomine's or Murasakibara's loud steps or shots or passes or voices, where Akashi's eye glows eerily and he sees the things Aomine sees (or, rather, the things that are even beyond what Aomine can see) and a knot clenches in Kise's stomach and Momoi's eyes are more red than pink and Midorima's teeth are grinding and Kuroko is even less there than usual. He's sweated today more than ever, had to take a longer shower and was almost late to the job, but he feels like he's accomplished less. This team is splintering; everything is breaking apart. And, for a few glorious moments, this team was untouchably good. It doesn't take someone of Kise's level of perception to realize that this team is something special. But it really is, it's something that almost puts the pieces into place for Kise, almost lets him be fully engaged, finally. There's nothing inhibiting him except his own lack of ability, and knowing that spurs him on to try harder. Or, more accurately, nothing has been inhibiting him. But Aomine, the farthest in front, has hit a wall, and Murasakibara and Akashi have hit that wall, too, and while Kise cannot say if he has, or if Midorima has or if Kuroko has, they have seen what hitting that wall does to people. Kise wonders if he'll ever be good enough to get there, but it's almost as if he doesn't want to. It's almost as if he's gotten complacent, satisfied with where he is, as if he's decided that he's good enough and there's no use getting any better. But he wants to stir up that feeling, that thrill, the ecstasy and the glow and the heightened senses of playing basketball like that again, because he's never felt that way doing anything else. He doesn't know if he'll ever feel that way again, doesn't know if anything else will stir up those emotions again, that rawness of the air against his skin and the sweat evaporating, of feeling every drop. He's chasing that feeling like it's a mirage in the desert, like it might be real but he doesn't know and right now he has to take a chance on the heat shimmering off the sand because there's nothing else.

But all great things are destined to not last. "Nothing gold can stay," who said that? A poet? The Roman Empire, those innovators, they were only a few generations, weren't they? A racehorse is only good for a year or two, a gymnast for a window one summer Olympics wide. There are rare exceptions, of course, but not enough of them. The Generation of Miracles is not one of them-if it was, they would still be playing together in the same way, no one dissatisfied with his lot. Even the dream team, the greatest basketball team of them all (so they say) was only together for what, one tournament?

Destiny says that they must splinter and grow to hate one another, forge their own paths into the world and perhaps never meet again. But Kise just wants to flip destiny the bird and go out and forge a path ahead with whoever will join him. He's not above groveling at people's feet, and he wants this feeling back so badly, wants to feel finally complete again so hard that he will do damn near anything to get it.

* * *

He starts with Kuroko. More accurately, he feels the most comfortable around Kuroko, and he respects Kuroko more than he respects Midorima. Practice is over; Midorima is taking his five hundred or so shots on one side of the gym. Behind the wall, Kuroko is doing drills. He takes a break (long after he's been needing one; that guy really has no stamina) and when he stands up again Kise has the ball and passes it to him. Doing drills with Kuroko is comfortable, although there's some kind of undercurrent, and Kuroko doesn't entirely understand Kise's motivations yet. Still, he lets him join in and that is enough for now.

By the time Kise is done showering, Kuroko has left already. The locker room is empty and silent, a ghost town, but if Kise listens hard he still hears nothing echoing throughout the lockers and benches and showers.

The next day, he stays on Midorima's side, copies him, staggering his shots a second after Midorima. Midorima glares. "Use the other hoop; you're interrupting my routine."

Kise obliges, plants his feet like Midorima and shoots the ball high in an arc that lands about half a meter in front of the net. It bounces back to Kise's feet, rolling the last few sad centimeters. Kise leans down and picks it back up, turns to look at Midorima again, watches as he gets the shot off and it lands cleanly, swishing straight down into the net. Kise again plants his feet, places his arms, and then shoots the ball. This time, it bounces off the rim and right back at him, almost hitting Kise in the forehead before he catches it.

After half an hour, Midorima takes a water break. Kise has made one shot, and that was a bit dubious-it rolled around the rim before finally trickling in. He's standing, glowering at the basket (because he can't glare at himself, even though it's his own damn fault) when Midorima walks up to him, carrying his own basketball.

"You'll be taking shots from a closer range," he says. He grabs Kise's arm, sort of roughly, like he's not used to touching people, and pulls him forward. "And use your normal shot."

Kise shoots at a lower angle, conjures up shots he's seen from each opponent this year, each player from each school, each shot slightly different, held or released with different arms, different legs, a different motion, different timing. Swish, swish, swish. In they go in succession.

Kuroko's caught on by this point, and somehow Kise ends up walking home with him and Midorima and Momoi, stopping by the convenience store like they used to and buying popsicles like they used to. It's too quiet, though; all of them thinking separate thoughts that are probably along similar lines.

* * *

Playing by himself is different than a one-on-one with Aomine. The challenges are subtle, and he almost feels like he's Aomine-if he is the only one playing, the only one who can beat him is him. But this is not the Aomine who he played against, the Aomine with the affectionate, infectious grin. This is someone else in that guy's body, or at least Kise tries to convince himself of that. Still, he plays one-on-one with Kuroko sometimes and occasionally (when the begging wears him down) Midorima, but it's never the same. Of course, that's to be expected, isn't it? They're different players. Still, that thrill is not ignited. Kise's striking the match, flicking the lighter, but there's no flame yet.

It's so discouraging, that he's pulling more than his weight and barely dragging along with the other three, and he cannot reach the three others who have turned away. Truthfully, Aomine's the only one of those who matters yet he's the farthest away. He used to be so close, so real, stealing a bite of Kise's food or shoving Kise or getting into a stupid argument with Momoi or complaining about how tired he was...there's a gap, a gap bigger than the one that was filled by that basketball feeling, in his life, Kise realizes.

It's enough to get him to break down crying, sitting on a ledge with everyone, between Midorima and Kuroko. Midorima pats him awkwardly and gingerly on the shoulder and the gesture is enough to get Kise to start laughing through his tears. Midorima snatches his hand away and turns bright red, and Kise only laughs harder. For some reason, his emotions are getting away from him, all of them. Perhaps that's what's been holding him back?

* * *

"Tetsu-kun?"

"Momoi-san?"

"Do you think...Akashi-kun...?"

Kuroko stares up at the sky. Kise and Midorima have split off, arguing spiritedly in a way Kuroko had thought they never would again. But, yes, as things get better, they must get worse. He gets his hopes up, time and time again, only to have them dashed against the rocks. But he cannot lose faith, does not want to lose faith in this small happiness inside the gloomy world that basketball has become for him.

* * *

Still, things appear to be looking up. More and more, Midorima will stay even later, after he's made his shots, to play one-on-one against Kise or one-on-two against Kise and Kuroko (Midorima wins every time, mostly because Kise's trying all these weird difficult shots he'd never try in a game because he knows he'd be benched forever if he did that and missed, which he usually does here. But it doesn't matter. He's learning to catch Kuroko's passes, and they're all having fun, no matter how much Midorima will deny it). Momoi bends her head over the clipboard and makes a note and almost (almost!) smiles as she does it. Kise's shots take way less time than Midorima's to make, even though he'll sprinkle in a few misses. But there's always some time, when the last few shots are falling in like clockwork for Midorima, when Kise tries to imitate them and almost succeeds, still sometimes throwing it straight up in the air (it doesn't help that he's a natural righty) but mostly getting it off the rim or through the hoop.

* * *

The season drags on. Aomine, Murasakibara, and Akashi grow even more distsant. The coach is little more than a talking head. Everyone is frustrated, the threads that tie Kise to Kuroko, Midorima and Momoi are so breakable and so thin, stretched and stressed to what seems each day like it might be the breaking point. But still, they persevere together. Their voices are still bitter, but they are perhaps a shard less bitter than before. At any rate, they do not grow more so.

Their heterochromatic-eyed captain knows everything, though. He can see the future; he can see what is hidden and behind locked doors. He knows what they are up to, or more specifically what Kise is up to.

It's just another day, as practice is over and the bench players head to the showers. Akashi's got some of his seemingly-endless supply of shogi tiles in his hand, and he's staring at the window as the sunlight streams in. It would be picturesque if he wasn't wearing those baggy basketball shorts and an old t-shirt, and as it is, it's pretty intimidating. He turns his head to just the perfect angle, red eye glinting in a sunbeam, and says, "Ryouta, you do know that cheating fate is impossible."

He says it with an absolute finality, the words making everyone stop in their tracks and stare at him like this, the way his words always do, the way he always means them to. The emperor is unyielding, unchallenged. Kise feels like he cannot move, as Akashi turns away again and flicks his wrist, one of the tiles sent flying at him, clipping his collarbone with an angry red mark (his agent will yell at him about it tomorrow, but Kise's voice isn't working and he cannot yell himself) that soon begins to bleed. A few seconds later, and Akashi waves his hand in dismissal, and the bench players leave. Akashi himself turns to follow them, grinning wickedly at Kise. The cut on his collarbone pulses wildly with his out-of-control blood pressure.

He does not move or speak until Midorima is standing in front of him, holding out a basketball (Kise cannot tell how much later this is). His eyes almost automatically fill with tears to see the basketball offered, as has become their routine (although nine times out of ten it's Kise who goes and gets the basketballs) and all the thoughts come rushing from his brain to his mouth. "Midorimacchi," he whispers. "Midorimacchi, do you think…does Akashicchi…what will happen? What are we going to do? What should we—"

And Midorima kisses him, hard and bruising like he just wants Kise to _shut up right now, don't say it or it will become real_ because Midorima believes in exactly that sort of superstition, but if he just wanted Kise to shut up he wouldn't use his tongue like this and wow Kise did not have any idea Midorima could do things like this. And…oh. It hits him, what this actually means, and Kise stumbles backward and it's a good thing there's a wall right behind him and soon Midorima's pushing him up against the wall and it's all too much for Kise. He was already a mess and now he's just sobbing and bleeding in Midorima's arms like some second-rate vampire victim. When Kise looks up, he sees through his tears that Midorima's face is hard and his mouth is set in a line. He's angry, but he's still holding on to Kise tightly, so it's not at him. Is it at Akashi? Do the powers that be allow them to be angry with Akashi?

* * *

None of them asks him any questions. They've all already figured it out for themselves, what he's trying to do.

"You know," Midorima says one day, when they've split off from Kuroko and Momoi. "You can't really change destiny. You might think you're changing destiny, but you're fated to think you're supposed to do this, but really the future hasn't happened yet so your destiny is—"

It's Kise's turn to cut him off when his rambles become unintelligible.

* * *

Things never come to a head with Akashi. He just grins that sinister grin and Kise holds his breath and double-checks his actions around him, and that's that. Kise actually knowing his "place" in Akashi's hierarchy is essentially no different from him acting as if he knows it. Pretenses and show are all that Akashi cares about, anyway, and winning is part of that. They win as separate units, not as a team. Their assists-to-points ratio is by far the lowest of any middle school in Japanese history, and Akashi takes an almost sick kind of pride in that.

It's enough of a distraction for Kise not to realize that the feeling is back. It's there, inside of him, but he's preoccupied with Akashi until the one day he forgets to be preoccupied and it's warm enough outside for them to play outside and it's actually still light (well, twilight really) out when they're walking home, and there's an empty basketball court and it's practically calling his name, so he pulls Midorima over. And Midorima starts out with a three, and Kise counters with a two, really blowing past him, and he goes on defense and forces Midorima inside the three-point line over and over and over again, and they're really building up speed and intensity and drive and Kise's heart is singing.

And if this isn't destiny he doesn't know what is, because he'd rather play one-on-one until he can't see with the guy he just might be falling in love with while he feels the best he's ever felt than splinter apart from this guy and from all his friends willingly and go down with the ship. And he can barely see the streetlight glimmer off the basket and he looses a three of his own, arcing high and narrow, so high and narrow it's hard to believe that he's the one who shot it and it swishes through the net and they have to end here even though it's a tie, but they'll pick the game back up tomorrow and the day after that and the day after that because Kise Ryouta has chosen his destiny and this is it.


End file.
